


Cocktail Hour - Moonshine

by Taamar



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode s02e13: Exit Wounds, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 05:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10564824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taamar/pseuds/Taamar
Summary: John Hart should have left Earth in the aftermath of Gray's rampage, but since he didn't, he has a few insights to share with Ianto Jones.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of Gmariam's Cocktail Hour stories.

  
John Hart would have left Earth the minute he was clear of Torchwood if it had been possible, no matter what he told Jack. Problem was, his Vortex Manipulator refused to get a clean lock on anything, and he wasn't crazy enough to jump blind. They told a story back in the Agency about some poor sod who had missed his mark by a century and burned out his VM. No way was John going to risk it. No, he'd stay right here on this dismal, backwater world until time stabilized enough for him to go. In the meantime, there were poodles, video games, cheap bedsits, and a thriving underground off-worlder community where he could get proper booze. There were worse places to be stranded; John was intimately acquainted with a number of them. 

Still, even the best distractions become tedious after a while, and eventually he found himself propped up against the wall of his barren rented room, with a milk jug of Malmooth moonshine and a large packet of prawn crisps (to kill the taste). After contemplating whether to watch network television (boring) or pornography (even worse, if possible), and having finally settled on Strictly Come Dancing as the most interesting of his available entertainment options, John heard a knock, a pause, then the click of the door being opened.  

He knew instantly who it was. Not only could his more advanced senses smell Ianto Jones, but only Torchwood’s delectable battle butler would politely open the door rather than kick it in. He turned to see the man standing resolutely, his gun trained directly at John’s head.

“Sorry about the mess,” John offered. He’d been trying to stay out of trouble- an unnatural behavior for him- but when a Korven reverser just _dangles_ itself in front of you… anyway, no locals had been killed, but the alley was in slimy shambles, and the residual radiation from the blast must have lead Ianto here.

“You couldn’t have done it down in the warehouse district where we could have hosed things down?” Ianto asked dryly, gun never wavering.

John quirked his mouth into a smirk.  “You won’t shoot,” he said, turning back to the screen.

“I will.”

“No, Eye Candy, you won’t. You’re not a killer. You’ll kill if you’re attacked, sure. If someone you love is threatened, you won’t hesitate. But I’m neither right now. I’m sitting on the floor in a shitty room drinking the nastiest beverage in the universe, and my hands are visible. You won’t shoot. You may as well stop pretending.”

Ianto lowered his gun. John raised the milk jug thoughtfully, shaking it to gauge how much was left.

“Want some?” he offered.

“Is it going to kill me?”

“Please.” John snorted with contempt. “Unlike you, I _am_ a killer. If I wanted you dead, you would be.”

“I find that strangely reassuring.”

“After the month you’ve had, that doesn’t surprise me. Come sit over here, I think there’s an old soup can you can drink from.”

Ianto scrunched his nose in disgust.

“No, really, it helps the taste.”

Ianto hesitated, but eventually he stashed his weapon in his waistband and sat on the floor next to John, accepting a soup can of milky greenish liquid. He took a swallow, shuddering, but not coughing, gagging, or spitting it out. John’s opinion of him inched upward.

“You’re still here,” Ianto said, his voice a little rough, but steady. “I expected you to leave Cardiff, at least. There’s no telling what Jack will do if he finds you.”

John had known Jack Harkness- by several names- for a long time, and he knew that Ianto Jones was wrong. He knew exactly what Jack would do: Nothing. However close Ianto and Jack were (and John couldn’t admit, even to himself, how scathingly jealous he was of both of them), there were clearly some fundamental things Ianto Jones didn’t understand about his old partner. Jack never gave up on people he loved, and he didn’t stop loving people. He’d let John walk away numerous times for things John would have killed over. He’d even frozen Gray. John wondered if Ianto knew that.

“I’m not worried about Jack,” John said. “Even on his worst day, he’s a better man than I. As long as I don’t cause trouble, he’ll leave me alone. He’s always been like that. Even as a con man, he did exactly what a job took, no more, no less.”

Ianto looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then took a huge gulp from his can, visibly gathered his courage, and asked, “What was he like then? Before he was, you know…” He trailed off uncomfortably.

“Immortal? He was _more_. More everything. Louder, larger than life. Willing to risk everything for a big enough payoff. He was less afraid of living when he didn’t have to do it forever. Less afraid of caring when he wasn’t assured of losing everyone eventually. He wasn’t hiding behind bravado, he was bravado incarnate.” John glanced over at Ianto, who was looking at him with an expression of surprised confusion. “What? You thought I’d tell you stories about the good old days? Didn’t expect me to have thought that much about anything?”

Ianto shrugged. “I believed what you showed me.” He took another sip from his can and made a face. “Christ, this is foul. What is it?”

“Moonshine, essentially. The Malmooth regurgitate their internal milk to feed their young. The cheese is considered a delicacy; this is fermented from the whey.”

“That’s repulsive,” Ianto replied, but he didn’t set his can down.

“Not the worst thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

“I shudder to imagine. Go ahead then, tell me a story, one of Jack’s grand adventures. Only his name wasn’t Jack back then, was it? What was his name?”

“If he won’t tell you, then it’s not my place.”

“You’re joking. You’ll lie, steal, and cheat- even murder doesn’t bother you- but you won’t tell me his _name_?” Ianto held out his can for a refill. John poured and passed the crisps.

“He expects me to lie, steal, and cheat. He also expects me to keep some things to myself. I’m sure there are things about you that he wouldn’t tell me. There are some lines even I won’t cross, not without more incentive than a simple question. Now if you offered a blowjob, maybe…”

“Not going to happen.”

“I suppose not. And while he wouldn’t kill me for it, that _would_ piss Jack off.”

“I doubt it. He’s barely speaking to me right now.”

“No? I’ll bet he gave you that bullshit about labels and being beyond it, but it’s exactly that: bullshit. He says that because he doesn’t want to acknowledge, even to himself, how deeply he falls, when he falls. For all his talk, Jack is profoundly faithful to people he loves.” Seeing Ianto’s eyeroll, John clarified, “I don’t mean in that ridiculous ‘absolute monogamy in theory, but not in practice’ way you people have, but on an emotional level. Once he decides that a person is worth loving, _he will never stop_. Truly never, in his case. You’ll be gone, this planet will be barely a memory, the stars will flare their last, and Jack Harkness will still love you. That’s why it’s so hard for him to give himself to people, and why he takes it so hard when he loses them.“

“I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this? You wouldn’t even tell me his name.”

“Because I know how it ends, Eye Candy,” John said. And he did. He’d searched the records after his first visit to Torchwood. There had been nothing about Gray’s rampage, but Ianto Jones’s future had been laid out in stark detail, nothing but cold data and a video.  “I looked it up. You’re all history to me, and I know how it ends. You deserve… _something_.”

Ianto didn’t say anything for a long time. When he finally spoke, it was low and slow, the alcohol finally catching up with him. “I don’t want to know,” he said.

“And I wouldn’t tell you. We’re not meant to know our own futures. But if you were mine, you’d never have to doubt how I feel.”

It seemed that the alcohol was finally kicking in for him too, because John hadn’t meant to say that. _Spoilers_ , or close enough. And he certainly hadn’t meant to let slip how much he admired the man. Not just in a ‘want to push you up against the wall and commence with the debauchery’ way, though there was quite a lot of that, but with deep appreciation of his intellect and loyalty and absolute _sang froid_ in a crisis. He’d have made an excellent con man if he’d been inclined, and though John would like nothing more than to steal him away, the past was the past, and a time agent knew better. Truth was, John himself had fallen a little in love with Ianto Jones. Jack was a fool if he didn’t treasure what he had, though. And John knew Jack was nothing if not a fool.

“You’re drunk,” Ianto said, shoving his shoulder against John’s.

“Very,” John agreed.

“Me too.”

“Drunk enough to kiss me?” John tried to keep the question light, teasing.

“Not even close.”

Regardless, Ianto closed his eyes and let his head droop. John slung an arm around him and gathered him close to his chest. He’d thought he would hate the boy for having Jack’s love, until he saw what the future held. Then there was only sadness for a man who deserved so much more than life would give him.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: You've been following Gmariam's 'Cocktail Hour' stories, right? This is my take on post-Exit Wounds. As often happens, I said "Hey, you ought to write..." and she said, "Uh, no. You go ahead." Then she cheers me on, and betas, and we have a grand ol' time.


End file.
